


Lightbringer Mine

by yelp



Category: Original Work
Genre: Abuse, Anal Sex, Dehumanization, Forced Marriage, Gags, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic, Minor Character Death, Objectification, Oral Sex, Past Abuse, Porn, Power Imbalance, Ritual Public Sex, Royalty, Shameless Smut, Slavery, yikes i overthought the prompt again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:54:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25530013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yelp/pseuds/yelp
Summary: In the moments that it took the new emperor to slide his sword out from the corpse of his brother, Tanju came to the only possible decision. He threw himself onto the ground and prostrated himself—knees, elbows, forehead all desperately kissing the cool marble—even as he cried into it, "Long live the emperor!"Ardashir's boots came into view first, then the tip of his sword, held loosely at his side, dripping a trail of blood behind him. When he stopped walking, the drips began to gather into a pool. "You wish me to live long?"~In the aftermath of a bloody coup, the emperor's consort finds himself desperate to stay alive. His body and his magic are all he has to offer, for the one who possesses these will also possess the throne.
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 29
Kudos: 210
Collections: Asmutstory, Original Works Opportunity 2020





	Lightbringer Mine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rubynye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubynye/gifts).



As the sounds of battle pushed them ever deeper into the inner palace, Tanju had the uncomfortable sense of being driven, prey-like, into a trap. Through sitting rooms they scrambled, and audience rooms, and reading rooms. Through the steaming baths, tiles slippery underfoot, and out into the series of ornamental gardens, its reflecting pools and lovely stone paths made treacherous by the dark of night. 

"A light," cried the emperor, grabbing him bruisingly by the arm. Dutifully, Tanju focused, until a soft buttery glow issued from the palm of his hand, firefly-faint at first, but soon bright enough to gild his wrist and fingers. When Emperor Kahraman took the hand and swept it in front of him, sending Tanju stumbling for balance, it barely scattered the shadows before them, just enough to pick out a path indoors.

The galleries were next, where their hasty flight knocked priceless porcelains and artworks clattering to the ground. Dismayed, Tanju didn't even notice his light flickering out until the emperor's grip tightened, nails digging into the soft flesh of his wrist. "A light," Kahraman repeated, and didn't let go until the glow returned. 

The end found them holed up in a disused bedchamber, tucked away in some disused wing, hoping that obscurity might buy them time—all the winding corridors between them and their pursuers, or at very least, all the bodies the emperor had thrown at the problem. At every juncture, Kahraman had sent off a few of his guard, ostensibly to scout the enemy's position, but he hadn't seemed surprised, much less concerned, when they failed to return. Now they were down to only Elif, the captain of his guard; Tanju, his consort, who had never wielded a weapon deadlier than a fruit knife; and Kahraman himself, twenty years gone from the battlefield that he'd left to the care of his younger brother—which, in a way, was the precise cause of their present predicament.

"I need to check on my men," Elif said, pacing at the door, stopping occasionally to listen, as if she could judge the position of the enemy from sound alone. For all Tanju knew, perhaps she could. "That's my job."

"Your duty is to me," Kahraman insisted. "Protect me at all costs." 

If Tanju had thought his royal husband might include him in that protection, he would have been disappointed. He began to move around the dim bedchamber, passing the light of his hand searchingly over the walls and furnishings. The honeyed glow puddled in succession upon a canopied bed, a pair of dusty chairs, and a bulky wardrobe, empty. The bedspread and the chair cushions were picked out with gold thread that caught his light and shone, the furniture all filigreed with the same ornate pattern around the edges, whorls and ripples of gold that glinted mockingly under his hand. What good would such riches do them now? 

Grimly, Elif set about putting the wardrobe to use at least, sending it crashing onto its side with a great shove, heedless of the gold that snapped off the handles and trim. She began to shove it towards the door, perhaps with the idea of barricading them in—but then paused, between pushes, and canted her head. 

"What are you doing?" demanded the emperor, as she reversed direction, pulling the wardrobe back, now unblocking the door. "Stop that!"

"I smell smoke," she said. "We can't sit here forever. Majesty." She met his eyes daringly, and held them until Kahraman waved a reluctant hand. Almost before he finished the motion, she was gone, with a final caution to re-barricade the door after her, and not open it for anyone. 

"How could this have happened?" the emperor moaned, clawing at the golden bedspread in the dark. There was a sharp rending sound, and Tanju could only count himself fortunate not to be the target of this rage. 

Tanju went to the window, and peeked out between the silk curtains. Indeed, through the dark, he could see fires blooming in the distance, the red-orange light of them wavery with smoke, wispy and surreal. 

Such a thing shouldn't be possible, not here. The palace had not seen fighting in his entire lifetime, though they had long been a nation at war, for the emperor's brother, Ardashir the Warlord, had been off keeping the borders. Now, borders declared kept, Ardashir had returned, and he seemed to have brought the war back with him, nipping and howling at his heel like his hunting dogs.

"Tanju," Kahraman panted, with one last scratch at the fabric. He wasn't a young man anymore, not by any means, and seemed to have tired himself out along with his fury. When Tanju turned with his light, he could see that Kahraman's face was dripping with sweat, even in the chill of the evening. 

"Here, Majesty." Tanju hurried to wipe the emperor's forehead with a sleeve. Instead, his wrist was caught, right where the nails had dug in earlier.

"Sing me a song. We're going to die here, you and me. That useless captain of mine isn't coming back. Sing me a pretty tune before my baby brother gets here and slaughters us both."

Shakily, Tanju hummed a few notes, delaying while he searched his repertoire for something soothing, when all that filled his mind was panic. He had just about settled on an old lullaby, something about the moon lighting a path for weary travelers, when the emperor knocked his hand away and said, "Do you hear that?"

He rushed to the door, even as Tanju gasped, "Your Majesty, no!" But Kahraman had never listened to him at the best of times. He yanked open the door, looked out, and then shook his head.

"I heard Elif," he insisted, turning back. "That good-for-nothing woman, I definitely heard—"

He never finished his sentence. A foot of shining steel sprouted from the side of his neck, and he choked on it. Even in the darkness, Tanju could see that his eyes were wide and shocked.

The door fell open, and behind it was none other than Ardashir himself, looming a head and a half taller than his brother, monstrous bulk filling the entire doorway. A decade older than his last appearance in court, his face was lean and angular now, even further robbed of the roundness of his youth by the dark, shaggy hair that fell wildly around it, biting irregular shadow into his profile. There was a suggestion of new scars all over him—arms, face, neck—every visible stretch of skin scored with ridges that danced with shadow as he moved. He was dressed in mail vest to the thigh, plate armor broadening his shoulders, so he had to turn to pass through the door, and the cloak that flowed over it all was not black, as Tanju first thought, but revealed a bloody crimson when he stepped fully into the light. 

Involuntarily, Tanju jerked his hand upwards, casting the light on his face, but found no speck of expression there, not for having just murdered his brother by his own hand, not for having ransacked the palace and terrorized all its inhabitants, not even for having at last usurped the country and the throne—for with Kahraman dead at his feet, it was as good as his to rule. 

In the moments that it took the new emperor to slide his sword out from the corpse of his brother, Tanju came to the only possible decision. He threw himself onto the ground and prostrated himself—knees, elbows, forehead all desperately kissing the cool marble—even as he cried into it, "Long live the emperor!"

Ardashir's boots came into view first, then the tip of his sword, held loosely at his side, dripping a trail of blood behind him. When he stopped walking, the drips began to gather into a pool. "You wish me to live long?"

Tanju trembled. He had been betrothed to Kahraman since he was a child, when the age difference between them had been even more pronounced. Kahraman had always been a mountain in his eyes, implacable, invulnerable. Now he was dead, by this blade, and if Tanju didn't gather his wits, he'd meet the same fate. The thought of their blood mingling like this, of his final resting place being a scant arm's length from Kahraman's, was enough to spur him into action. Moving with exaggerated care, he closed the distance, and kissed Ardashir's boot, tasting clay and blood and warm leather beneath it. 

"I—" his voice cracked painfully. Oh, by all the gods, he was going to die here, and his body would lie with Kahraman's for eternity. "I beg to be of service to you, Your Majesty."

An arm reached down for him, copper skin pitted with scars and bulged with muscle and vein. Tanju held himself still. If this was death, there was no fighting it, and if it wasn't, then he'd _better_ not fight it. 

Ardashir grabbed a handful of his embroidered tunic, and pulled. The tunic fell open until it caught on the tie, baring his chest, and then began to drag him up with it. Tanju's eyes dashed around wildly—the top of Ardashir's black, unruly hair, the other figures entering the room, the edge of Kahraman's splayed out arm—before he forced them downward, as was proper.

The sword, Ardashir arced with the ease and grace of practice. Laid it upon his handful of Tanju's tunic, and wiped the blood and gore off it, using Tanju's clothing and body for a rag. Tanju clenched his hands behind his back, willing himself not to move, not to struggle, in case it incensed the man who held him, triggered some feral instinct, animal or warrior or both. 

When the blade was cleaned to his satisfaction, Ardashir released his grip, allowing his captive to fall in a graceless heap. Tanju struggled painfully back onto his abused knees, only to find the blade directly before his face, at which point he promptly forgot how to breathe. 

"Kiss it," said Ardashir, voice surprisingly soft in its command. The others were starting to gather behind him. Some of them looked like soldiers, though there were also faces familiar from court, among them Farzad, Ardashir's advisor, who had never shown particular loyalty for the emperor. The former emperor. Not one of them was here to help Tanju. 

Trembling, he lowered his lips to the blade. Even wiped clean, it still tasted of blood, his late husband's blood, and the steel was horribly, unthinkably warm. Fearing it not to be enough, he began to move down the length of it, pressing kisses to the metal as he went, delicately avoiding the cutting edge, yet waiting for it to be turned on him any moment, to slice his mouth, his cheek, his throat. 

After an eternity, Ardashir took the blade away. "You have no loyalty to my brother?"

"Your Majesty," Tanju stalled, while his mind raced. Words were the only weapon he had, pleasing this man his only chance at squeezing out a few more pathetic scraps of life, but such had always been his lot. Surely he could come up with something. "I served your brother with utmost faith, and it would be my honor to serve you just as faithfully. The light of my bloodline is yours for the taking, to join with yours, and lend legitimacy to your claim to the throne."

Ardashir raised an eyebrow. "You think my claim illegitimate," he said, and Tanju's stomach dropped. 

"No! Certainly not, Your Majesty." It had tasted legitimate enough, when he had been forced to kiss it. The blood of it felt legitimate enough, staining his robes, seeping into his chest. 

"Commander," Farzad interrupted, and then corrected himself, "That is, Your Majesty. If I may, this one makes a credible point. Taking your late brother's consort as your own would certainly help your position with your new citizens. There are many who still observe the old ways."

Tanju shot the man a grateful look, but froze when it was returned with a look of regret, almost pity. "Of course," the advisor continued, "you might also kill him, if you doubt his loyalty. Anyone of the line will do. There are others." He cleared his throat. "Younger ones."  
  
And Tanju hated him. Of course there were younger ones, there always were. Tanju was well past thirty now, older than Ardashir himself, and tainted by association with the previous emperor, no less. He wanted to cry in hopelessness, but held himself back. "Please consider, Your Majesty. The others are, are untrained, whereas I am experienced with my duties."

"Again, he makes a point," Farzad said. Tanju had never felt so much hatred, followed by so much gratitude, for a human in his life. "We would have to round them up from gods know where, while this one is present and available. Your people are waiting outside, anxious to witness your victory. If you claim him now, it will do a great deal to reassure them. It would be best to do it at night, as you know. For the effect of the thing."

At last, Ardashir began to sheath his sword. "Can you do other magics?" he nodded at the light still cradled in Tanju's hand.

"N-no, Majesty. Perhaps my ancestors had real power, once, but the blood is diluted, and this is about the extent of it. It will be stronger, of course, when we... if we..."

"Of course." Ardashir turned away, cloak flowing around him. "We'll wed immediately. The east balcony. Dawn is but a few hours away."

"Thousands of your subjects will be gathered. If he shouts something... disloyal..." said Farzad, instantly bringing Tanju's feelings swinging back around to hatred.

"I would never," Tanju pleaded, but was ignored.

"Gag him," said Ardashir impatiently, and stepped over his brother's corpse, on his way out.

~

Farzad hadn't been lying when he'd said the people were waiting outside. When they emerged onto the balcony, there came a tremendous, palpable roar. Tanju couldn't see them, but the sheer volume raised goosebumps all over his bare skin. He almost couldn't believe that there were this many people living in the capital. Kahraman had never inspired such a crowd. 

They'd stripped the torn silk sheets from the bed, and Tanju had a mouthful of them now, bulging his cheeks, robbing the moisture from his tongue. Another strip of it was tied around his face, covering him nose to chin, securing the gag in place. It was fortunate the people didn't care about his face, Tanju supposed, only his magic. 

Besides this, he was completely nude, not even slippers to shield his feet from the cold bite of the floor. He should have felt self-conscious on the crowded balcony, surrounded mostly by soldiers in full armor, leering at his naked, defenseless form, but the hasty preparations had left him with few illusions about what was about to happen to him. At least the man guarding his bath had heeded when he'd begged for oil, and he'd been granted a bottle of something slippery and unfamiliar, scenting faintly of cloves. A few furtive minutes had been enough to work it inside, stretching himself open in preparation for the inevitable, before the guard had returned to take him to his fate.

"On the railing," said Ardashir, nodding towards it. 

Tanju drifted over to edge of the balcony, trying to distance himself, float somewhere outside his body, but the oil dripping ticklishly down his thighs dragged him back with every step. He braced his forearms against the cold stone of the railing, and bowed himself over it, to see the staggering crowd gathered below, a multitude of faces and torches stretched without break over the streets, filling every corner and alley, straining for a look at him. As the drool dripped from his wrenched-open mouth, he had the strange thought that it would fall down on them, but they were too far for that. 

A touch on his back made him flinch—the flat of a palm, that held him down too firmly for him to move far. A second touch skated along the curve of his ass, pushing his cheeks unceremoniously apart, spreading him open, and he had to struggle not squirm, to kick out, to reach behind and cover himself. A thick finger pressed at his entrance, slicked inside with ease, making him whine quietly into the gag. By any luck, the rowdiness of the soldiers behind, and the crowd below, would drown it out, along with any further noises that might be wrenched from him tonight. He clutched at the stone beneath him as the finger plunged relentlessly deeper, exploring to its satisfaction, before it finally withdrew, leaving him even more open and vulnerable than before. This was happening whether he liked it or not.

There wasn't much warning, but at least there was some. The shift and slide of clothing, the clink of mail. A hard warmth nestling between his cheeks. The hand shifting on his back, bracing him even more firmly in place, as a weight leaned fully over him. The tickle of long hair falling against his shoulders. And then the cock nudged inside. There was a burn, a tightness, that hadn't been present with the finger, as skin slid against oiled skin, and caught, and slid again. 

Hands found his hips instead, holding him for the intrusion, rocking into him one tiny, infinite distance at a time. After a few of these short, burning thrusts, there came a sigh from above—felt rather than heard, in the join of their torsos—that shot dread through Tanju's entire frame, down to his fingertips. Being fucked like this was infinitely better than _failing_ to be fucked like this. 

Before he could try to relax himself further, the hands on his hips tightened, and then lifted.

His feet left the ground, flailed in terror before he could stop them, but there was nothing for them to connect with. He was treated to the horrible helpless sensation of being held up entirely by Ardashir's arms, positioned and angled to his liking, like some sort of toy. This time, as Ardashir dragged him backwards, the cock speared all the way into him, drawing out a grunt from one or both of them.

Entirely at the larger man's mercy, Tanju could only brace against his arms and let Ardashir fuck him at his own pleasure. He had the inappropriate thought that a military man like their new emperor would be used to taking himself in hand, passing lonely nights on the battlefield in the company of his own fist. That was how it felt now, and Tanju realized, somewhere in the process of being manhandled, used like a mere extension of that fist, his own penis had grown hard and weeping, straining against empty air for friction it would not find.

He unclenched his wet eyes, and saw that his hands were shining with an internal radiance, yellow as sunlight, so that he could see the web of his very veins, his pale skin translucent against the railing. From below, he must have looked like some kind of star, light blazing from his every pore out into the darkness. 

A warm hand around his cock gave him the blessed sensation he was lacking. Suspended in midair, he had no purchase to fuck against it, but it worked him with smooth, firm tugs, drawing the orgasm out of him as efficiently as Ardashir had earlier wiped the blood from his sword. He thought he screamed into the gag as he came, but all his senses were lost in a shock of pure sensation. For a delirious moment, he thought he'd gone blind with it; then he realized that he was staring into the dazzling brilliance of of his own arms, which now painted the simple stone beneath them into burnished gold.

Distantly, he felt the hand wipe against his chest, smearing him with his own spend, and then return to its hold on his hip, securing him once more. Ardashir continued to thrust until his own completion, and then sagged against him, the heavy weight of him pinning them both in place against the rail.

When he was flipped over, he could see that Ardashir's darker skin was also lit up from within, eyes and lips shining like lanterns, the edges of him haloed like the sun, crowning him for all to see as their rightful ruler. 

When he spoke, light poured from his open mouth, edging his teeth in radiance. Even this close, Tanju couldn't hear him over the deafening cheers of the crowd, of Ardashir's men on the balcony roaring with victory and approval. He had the sudden thought that the deed was done, Ardashir's ascension to the throne was confirmed. Perhaps he would simply release his hold, and allow Tanju to go plummeting to his death, now that his purpose had been served. 

Instead, Ardashir pulled him off the railing, and set him almost gently on his knees. Untied his gag, and pulled it from his mouth, still sopping with his drool. Perhaps it was a kindness, Tanju thought, still lightheaded and heaving for breath, that he wouldn't be killed still choking on the taste. 

Then Ardashir mouthed something else, placed a hand on the back of his head, and and pulled him in toward his groin. 

Heeding the order, though he couldn't hear it, Tanju wet his mouth as much as he could, and hastily began to lave the cock with his tongue, cleaning it of cum and oil, careful not to make any sort of face as he swallowed. When he'd finished, he tried to take the head into his mouth, in case Ardashir was after a second round, but he was pulled off, and allowed to rest in an exhausted puddle on the ground. He could only conclude that, once again, Ardashir simply enjoyed having his weapon cleaned after use, especially when Tanju's mouth was the rag used for the cleaning.

~

In the morning, Tanju woke up sore, which was no surprise. The real surprise was that he woke up at all. Perhaps he had been a good enough fuck to be deemed worth keeping around, he thought bitterly, age notwithstanding. 

He was in an unfamiliar bed, an unfamiliar room, but the opulence of his surroundings was recognizable enough. Still in the palace, then. By the angle of sun streaming from the window, he could only have slept for a few hours, but when he rolled over, he was shocked to find Ardashir wide awake, propped up on an elbow, studying him with the patience and impassivity of a waiting lion. In the daylight, his scars were even more visible and shocking, and Tanju had to tear his gaze away before he skirted impudence.

"M-my apologies for oversleeping." He sat up and awkwardly bowed, then stumbled out of bed, and bowed again, for good measure. "I, if it pleases Your Majesty, I will procure us breakfast from the kitchens." 

The new emperor didn't say anything, which Tanju had to take for agreement. The immediate danger passed, he became aware of the terrible ache between his legs, and his own nakedness, and looked around for something to cover both. 

Fortunately, there were fresh robes laid out, in his size, and suited to his station. After a tentative glance back at the bed, Tanju dressed under the emperor's watchful eye, and slipped out the door without another word.

~

When he returned, Ardashir was dressed as well, sitting at the table. He looked smaller in linen rather than mail, hair newly tamed into a braid that fell down his side, but the sharp way he looked up as Tanju entered, hand on his sword in an instant, made it clear that the rest of him was far from contained. 

"This is how you served him?" His eyes fell upon the tray in Tanju's hands.

Tanju couldn't let his hands shake, lest the dishes rattled unbecomingly. With steady steps and a bowed head, he set the tray on the table in front of Ardashir, and swiftly knelt at his side. "My apologies, Your Majesty. With time, I will learn better how to serve you." By any mercy, he would be allowed that time.

"I knew you were married to my brother," the emperor said. "I didn't realize you were his servant."

He was saved from having to find a response to that, when Ardashir took the lid from the first of of the little dishes, and said, "What are you meant to eat?"

Tanju flinched. "I—I was presumptuous. If it pleases your majesty, I will arrange my own portion in the future." He risked a glance up—he had to see how Ardashir reacted—only to find a puzzled frown on the emperor's face.

"You meant to eat my leftovers," he deduced.

Tanju was in the habit of being fed by Kahraman's hand, like a pet, but he didn't say as much, only nodded. He had positioned himself to the side of Ardashir's seat, out of range of a kick, and such that Ardashir would have to twist his body to deliver a slap with any force. It seemed to have worked: there was no strike. Ardashir only began to eat, like a soldier, without any grace or nicety, tearing through the food in record time, punctuating the silence with the sound of open-mouthed chewing. It was only a few minutes later that he left the table, pressing Tanju roughly on the shoulder as he went. "Help yourself."

"Your Majesty is gracious," Tanju said automatically, and took the still-warm seat. With the manners Ardashir had shown, he had expected to find the tray a picked-over mess, but the emperor seemed to have neatly split every portion, and cleaned his half, leaving the rest behind. Shakily, Tanju tore himself some bread, dipped it into the lentils, and tried not to think about it too much.

Behind him, Ardashir had taken a seat on the bed, and began cleaning his weapons, which he also tried not to think about too much. The scent of cloves filled air, making Tanju flush in memory and recognition. So that was where the oil had come from last night. 

As Ardashir wiped each blade to a polished shine, he wrapped it, and set it aside. When he was done, he wiped his hands, cleaning between his fingers with a surprising fastidiousness, and said, "I will need to address the troops today."

Tanju swallowed his bite, carefully wiped himself with Ardashir's napkin, and made his way over as quickly as he could manage. 

"How would you like me, Your Majesty?" he said, kneeling before him. In the daylight, it would be hard to see the light from their coupling, but Kahraman had always claimed it lent him a certain glow.

"On the bed, would be a start."

"Yes, Majesty." Tanju quickly disrobed and slid onto his back, legs apart, knees crooked back slightly, to show his ass. 

Beside him, Ardashir splayed out a leg, untied and tore open his tunic with the same motion, and began to stroke himself with an efficiency that was almost painful to watch. 

Timidly, Tanju offered, "Is there any way I might assist Your Majesty?"

Ardashir's motions didn't falter. "Do you plan to call me that the whole time?"

"Your M—" he broke off. "M-my apologies. Is there something else you wish—?"

"Don't call me anything," Ardashir snapped. Then, into the sudden silence, he sighed. Stopped what he was doing, and finally looked over. "How do you like to do this, when you have a choice?"

He didn't have a response to that. In all his years with Kahraman, he had never been asked. "Under you," he said, before the pause could become too obvious. "At your mercy." That had to be the right answer. 

He thought he'd be flipped over, ass up, but instead Ardashir climbed over him as he was, pressing Tanju's legs back with his thighs, and then held them in position with his hands. There was something surprisingly intimate about being face to face with him; his eyes raked over Tanju's body with an intensity that almost burned. 

"Is that all from me?"

Tanju looked down in surprise, but realized without having to see it. There would be clear finger imprints bruising him all over, especially on the waist and hips, and other marks besides. Kahraman had long ago outgrown simple, gentle sex. 

"No, Majesty. Your brother... had certain proclivities. I beg your forgiveness for appearing before you in this condition."

"And this?" Ardashir said, pressing a finger to Tanju's entrance, startling a gasp from him. It had been a sore walk to the kitchens, and the pain of a simple touch now made him wonder if it might even be torn, from the rough use last night. 

"I-I can assure you, it won't be any problem." He had taken worse, and smiled through it.

Experimentally, Ardashir lightly fingered around the abused rim. Tanju refused to wince. "Is it necessary to fuck you, every time I wish to have the light?"

"No, Your Majesty." Tanju strained to keep his voice steady. "Any state of, ah, heightened arousal will suffice. When Kahraman didn't feel like sex—" and he often didn't, Tanju didn't add, in the later years, "he favored... other methods. I can fetch some of his implements, if you wish."

Ardashir made a thoughtful sound, and set down Tanju's legs. Crawled on top of him, boxing him in with his body, and stroked a hand over his belly, up to his nipple.

"Your Maj—" Tanju began, and then writhed back against the sheets, as Ardashir grasped the nipple and twisted, hard, sending white hot sparks of pain lancing through him. When he was finally released, there were fresh tears in his eyes, and his fingers clenched white on Ardashir's arm were beginning to glow. 

For his part, Ardashir looked as dispassionate as if he'd just observed an interesting experiment. Of course a soldier would not need any instruments to cause pain, Tanju thought, trying to get his breathing under control. 

He was grateful that he'd long ago had all the fight beaten out of him. He didn't want to think of the consequences, if he had tried to move away, or worse—attempt to fend off the touch in some fashion. Panting, he wiped the sweat off his temple with a shuddering hand, but otherwise made no move to escape the remainder of his torment. 

Instead, Ardashir made that thoughtful sound again. When he touched Tanju's sore nipple, it was only to gently stroke the abused flesh. "I see. So my participation in the matter is irrelevant. The light is triggered by your body's responses alone."

"Irrelevant?" Tanju gasped. "Your Majesty, that's not the case—"

Ardashir gave him a grin that froze the words on his lips. Began to nuzzle him down his chest, using tongue and lips and teeth, but not to hurt, only to teasingly graze. When he began to lap at the sensitive nipple, tender where his touch had earlier been brutal, Tanju craned his head back and helplessly whined. "M-Majesty."

"What did I say?" 

"M-my apologies."

"My name." Ardashir licked his way downwards, pausing here and there to lift his mouth for a word. "You may use it."

"Ardashir," the attempt turned into a gasp, as the emperor made it down to his penis, and took the whole thing into his mouth, though it was already starting to grow too stiff to fit. The wet, enveloping heat threatened to undo him in an instant. "Wh-what do you—" This couldn't be happening. He tried to get up, to protest this sacrilege, but strong hands cupped his ass and lifted, holding his groin up to Ardashir's face, as he might devour a ripe melon.

Helplessly, he rode the waves of pleasure, and when the heat and sensation was too much, he came, his every muscle clenching with it involuntarily. 

It took minutes for his vision to clear, for his spinning head to settle back into reality. In all that time, Ardashir hadn't released his softening cock. Only when Tanju sat up, gasping in horror, did Ardashir allow it to fall wetly from his lips. The emperor didn't look angry, or humiliated. Instead, he had a smile like a wolf, richly fed. His skin glowed from within, iridescent and lush. 

"You claim to be so experienced. Don't tell me you've never done that before." he said, slowly licking his lower lip, a satisfied, sensual swipe of his tongue that nearly made Tanju faint. 

"As you wish, Majesty," he gasped, sinking back down, boneless and breathless both. 

**Author's Note:**

> The original prompt was "New King/His Cruel Older Brother's Widowed Husband". I find it funny that the second character in the prompt didn't technically exist as specified until like 20% through the fic. Hope the rest of it satisfied! 
> 
> In case you're into that sort of thing, I made a [moodboard](https://yelpfic.tumblr.com/post/627358724708777984/in-the-moments-that-it-took-the-new-emperor-to) for this fic.
> 
> Thanks for reading. Feedback would make my day!


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